


The Narcissus and the Lilium

by sujing



Series: a flower's wish [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Imagine that), (between Lucius and Narcissa), Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Fairies, Fairy Lily Evans, Flowers, POV Narcissa Black, Romance, Sister Love (Familial), casual nudity, it's almost love at first sight but in my defence this is a fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 11:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18636868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sujing/pseuds/sujing
Summary: When two flowers meet. In two parts.In which Lily is a fairy with tiger lilies for wings.





	1. Lily

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction that uses characters from and the world of Harry Potter, owned by J.K. Rowling.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa meets Lily.

In the quaint little town of Florem, there were two major families, the Blacks and the Malfoys. Known to all its denizens as wizards and witches of the highest calibre, they traced back their heritage as far as centuries ago. Their rivalry, too, was ancient and famous.

Though they had their disputes every now and then, for the most part, the families actively stayed out of each other’s business and avoided conflict. In times of great trouble for the town, during war, drought, and disease, they even allied together in the name of a common interest.

For the longest time, the two families stood on even footing, and though each had their strengths, neither could be said to truly exceed the other.

But, as the seasons must always pass, that changed…

* * *

“Come on, Cissy, you know you can tell me anything,” Bellatrix said, standing with the faint light of the shy spring sun at her back. “What’s wrong?”

Narcissa slumped against the great alder tree in the lands surrounding their estate, her face hidden by its shade. “Bella…I don’t want to marry Lucius,” she mumbled. “It’s not that I don’t like him. I just don’t think I can be with him. I can’t…” She shook her head, confused by her own conflicting feelings. “He’s like a brother to me.”

Bellatrix smiled sadly. “Mother and Father spoke to you, didn’t they? Our family really does need this. Ever since our cousin Regulus’s untimely death and Sirius’s desertion, we’ve been on the decline.” Bellatrix placed her hand on Narcissa’s shoulder. “Lucius isn’t so bad. He’ll take good care of you.” Then, with a sardonic expression on her face, she added, “Unlike Ruddy. _He’s_ a chariot crash.”

“I don’t know…” Narcissa whispered, trailing her fingers against the grass. It was still moist from the morning dew.

“You’ll be fine, Cissy. It’s normal to be nervous. Come on, I’ll be here for you.” Bellatrix pulled her sister into a warm hug. Her curly hair brushed against the side of Narcissa’s face. “If Lucius mistreats you, I’ll show him the wrath of a Black.”

Narcissa was left thinking of her other sister, Andromeda, who had eloped a year ago with some magicless no-name, leaving her sisters behind. She, more than Bellatrix, had always seemed to understand or at least know how to comfort Narcissa.

Still, the hug helped, if only a little bit.

She forced herself to smile. “Thanks, Bella.”

* * *

When Narcissa awoke the next morning, it was to a gentle weight draped over her chest. It was warm and soft and certainly not the cotton of her sheets. The whisper of a breath tickled her shoulder. Rolling over, Narcissa pushed the figure aside and out from under the covers, drawing them close to herself.

“What…? Bella?” she murmured, disorientated and mind still foggy with sleep. There was an answering hum. Narcissa blinked and reached a hand up to her face to rub the blurriness away.

There was an unfamiliar girl—no, a _woman_ —lying nude on her side in bed with her, her back facing Narcissa. There were a set of great _wings_ in the form of patterned tiger lilies sprouting along her spine and reaching down to the insides of her knees, a flaming orange-red with petals, sepals, carpel and all. They were only surpassed by the colour of her long hair, which were an even deeper red like molten lava.

_What the hell?_

Narcissa had to be dreaming. Had she spent too much time in the gardens as of late? But the lilies hadn’t bloomed yet, she knew. Maybe it was anticipatory.

“Who are you?” Narcissa asked hesitantly, pulling herself up against the headboard, taking the covers with her. There was no response. Against her instincts, she inched closer to the figure to take a better look. The woman was still lying there unmoving except for, Narcissa noted, the slight rising and falling of her chest.

“Oh!” Narcissa gasped as the woman suddenly rolled onto her back, swinging her arm around and startling Narcissa. Narcissa jumped back, reaching for the nightstand where she kept her wand. She grasped the hawthorn tightly in her hand and levelled it at the stranger. “Don’t move!”

Narcissa flushed as she took in the figure before her. She was a lovely, ethereal thing, like a maiden transported from the delicate pages of a fairy tale. Soft morning light spilled from the crack between the curtains and across her pale breasts, contrasted against the tresses of her dark hair beneath. Narcissa was surprised that her wings did not bruise from lying on them. The delicate flowers of their garden did always damage easily, she knew from experience. Sometimes it seemed that even the gentle droplets of dew would be too much to bear.

“Mmh…” the woman sighed, her wings shifting or perhaps stretching. Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal a pair of crisp green irises, which promptly drifted over towards Narcissa. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, smiling contentedly.

“Who are you?” Narcissa repeated, more forcefully this time. She still felt apprehensive, though she was now armed. The—fairy?—didn’t seem to have anything on her, including clothes of any sort, but Narcissa was determined not to let her guard down again. She had never heard of a creature that matched the stranger’s description, so she didn’t know what she was capable of, despite her looking friendly enough.

“No name,” she murmured sleepily, yawning.

“No name?” Narcissa repeated incredulously. “You can’t—oh, just tell me what you’re doing in my bedroom!”

“Returning a favour,” she replied casually. “You asked for a companion, didn’t you?”

“When did I—” Narcissa began, stopping short. _Oh. Last night, in the garden by the moonlight!_ She gasped and felt anger bubbling up inside her. “You were eavesdropping,” she accused. Her hand shook.

“ _Andy’s gone, Bella doesn’t understand, and my parents won’t listen,_ ” the fairy whispered, gazing intently at Narcissa. She seemed to have stirred to wakefulness. “ _I wish someone would be here for me._ ”

Narcissa felt her cheeks heat up with mortification at the recitation of her admission of weakness. “You didn’t have the right,” she bit. “Those words weren’t for you to hear.”

The fairy laughed, her voice like the tinkling of bells in the wind. “Sorry,” she said between muffled giggles, “sorry. You’re so precious, Narcissa, sweet like the nectar of spring jonquils.”

Narcissa found herself lowering her wand. Her face was now pink with a sudden surge of gaiety at the fairy’s compliment. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“What is there to understand? You called for me, and I responded,” the fairy said simply.

“What are you?” Narcissa asked, and the fairy’s eyes lit up in anticipation.

“I am the spirit of the lilies in your garden,” she explained, “the very ones you water so carefully every day. The same ones you whisper all your dearest secrets to, every little worry and every little joy. You fed life to me, and I was brought into existence. Without you, I would have remained a common plant devoid of consciousness, doomed to the confinement of the earth, but now, I am free.”

The fairy sat up, drawing her wings from beneath her and shook them out, causing a dusting of reddish pollen to sprinkle the sheets. Narcissa clenched her hand around her wand instinctively but did nothing to stop her. Despite the strangeness of it all, Narcissa believed her. It reminded her of Cinderella, that peasants’ tale her parents had sneered at, and her fairy godmother, except, that wasn’t quite accurate to their situation, whatever this was.

The fairy tilted her head towards the window where the sun’s rays were growing steadily brighter, a forlorn look overtaking her expression. “I must go,” she declared quietly.

“Wait,” Narcissa said, “you’ve barely told me anything.” She hesitated, still clutching the covers close to her body. “Will you return?”

The fairy smiled. “I will only appear to you when the morning dew still rests on fine lily-petals.”

Narcissa moved forward to feel her warmth again, hand outstretched, but when she blinked, there was nothing left but a faint shimmer in the air.

* * *

“Is it really you?” Narcissa murmured, caressing a white lily in her hand. To her surprise and delight, they had bloomed overnight, all two dozen of them. She leaned down and pressed her nose up against its centre and took a deep breath. The fragrance was confident but not overwhelmingly sweet, with a distinctive tang of something else extra. The stigma brushed against the tip of her nose, leaving a wet mark behind.

She sighed, though she knew there would be no response. “I’ll take care of you,” she promised quietly. “No one will touch you but me, and we’ll see each other again in the morning.”

She spent the rest of the day in the garden and away from her family.

* * *

“I didn’t think you would come,” Narcissa murmured when she woke up. “I thought it was naught but a dream.” The fairy was curled up against her again, her head nestled snugly between the left side of her chest and her upper arm. Her hair tickled Narcissa’s skin. Narcissa used the hand that was not pinned down to brush the fairy’s red bangs aside to look upon her face.

“A good one, I hope,” the fairy whispered back humorously. “Thank you for taking care of me, Narcissa. You’ve done so well.”

“Call me Cissy,” Narcissa said. “Everyone that means anything to me calls me that.”

“Thank you, Cissy,” the fairy amended, nuzzling her nose against Narcissa’s side, tracing along the faint outline of her ribs.

“What should I call you?” Narcissa asked. “It’s awkward thinking of you as ‘the fairy’ all the time.”

“I am just a flower,” the fairy said, amusement clear in her voice. “We don’t have names, not unless our carers choose to grant us one.”

“Will you let me name you, then?” Narcissa asked tentatively. The fairy nodded in assent. Narcissa reached over to brush her hand along the length of her wings. They were silky and smooth and slightly cool to the touch. The fairy made a pleased sound.

“Liliane,” Narcissa decided. “But I will call you Lily,” she added, “only I.”

They held each other until the sun’s rays shone brightly again.

* * *

“Irresponsible girl,” her mother scolded. Narcissa flinched and averted her gaze down at her feet. “Skipping out on important social events, not caring a whit for our family’s future! Always in that blasted garden, wasting away over worthless flowers, a house-elf’s task! What will the Malfoys think?”

A week had passed like a fleeting dream. Every morning, Lily appeared to Narcissa, and every morning, she would disappear again. Narcissa tended to the garden religiously by day, making sure that each and every plant was watered and fertilised well. As she passed the time, waiting for the day to cross over to the next, she sang some of her favourite songs.

 _‘Dôme épais le jasmin…À la rose s'assemble…Rive en fleurs, frais matin…Nous appellent ensemble…’_ [1]

Day by day, she found that the lilies changed under her care. At first, they had all been a pure, snowy white, like the down feathers of a swan. Then, initially, Narcissa had noticed a faint blush blossoming from their centres. Finally, over the next few days, they grew dark speckled spots while the orange deepened and spread like the glow of a fire to match Lily’s wings. Though she kept her observations to herself, it seemed to Narcissa as if Lily’s daily visits grew longer and longer with the lilies’ strength.

Now she stood in her father’s study, forced to face reality once more.

“Come now, Druella,” her father said tiredly, leaning against the back of his armchair, “she’s just got cold feet. Don’t you remember when you were a young lady?”

Her mother tapped her foot impatiently against the wooden floor. “ _I_ was a dutiful daughter,” she said, sending Narcissa a scornful look. “ _I_ stayed in line and did was what required of me. She’s already seventeen!”

“It will happen regardless,” her father insisted. “The Malfoys would be foolish to back out now.” He frowned, seemingly in thought.

“I don’t want to marry Lucius,” Narcissa said quietly. At her side, her mother jolted. 

“What did you say?” her mother hissed.

“I won’t marry him,” Narcissa said, finding a sudden bout of defiant strength in her declaration. She envisioned the image of fiery Lily in her mind. “I said, I—” she gasped as her mother seized her by the wrist, “—WON’T MARRY HIM!”

“YOU WILL!” her mother shouted furiously. Her father looked on impassively, satisfied with delegating the messy matter to his wife. He didn’t seem to have any concerns about her ability to convince her daughter. “You _will,_ and that is the end of the matter! For your own good, you silly thing, if nothing else! What could you do,” she said scathingly, “run away without a penny to your name?”

“So what if I do?!” Narcissa yelled, wrenching her hand away. It stung. Angry tears sprang hotly to her eyes as her indignation swelled at her heartless mother and her uncaring father. “What will you do, have me killed if I disobey, like you do to your servants? You can’t force me—over my dead body!”

“No,” her mother said lowly, “but I can lock you up. You are to be confined to your room until you recover your senses, Narcissa.”

* * *

Lily didn’t appear the next morning. Nor the next. Nor the one after that. Nor any of the following mornings.

Narcissa dreamed of Lily during her confinement. She dreamed of Lily pressed snugly to her, skin against skin, and of holding her, their bodies entwined. She dreamed of missed opportunities, of kissing Lily desperately like she never had, and of begging her to stay, only for Lily to slip through her fingers like fresh dew evaporated when she awoke. Her bed felt empty and cold, no matter how closely she drew the covers or how brightly the sun shone outside. She tried to smother herself in the pillows. She screamed in frustration, then loss.

Narcissa didn’t cry because she held out hope. It was her belief that the wards keeping her trapped in her room must have inadvertently kept Lily out. She could believe nothing else, for Lily would not simply abandon her.

Prim, the house-elf, brought her three timely meals every day, and though Narcissa tried, she never quite managed to finish any of them. It didn’t taste right to her, though by all measures, Narcissa knew Prim to be a competent chef, if not an exceptional one. It must have been her that was wrong, she realised. She felt sick, and no matter how long she slept the days away, the nauseous feeling in the depths of her core only worsened.

With every meal would come the short, terse message that if she changed her mind, she had only to inform her parents through Prim to be freed (if the iron shackles of an unwanted marriage could be called freedom). Otherwise, she was happily ignored.

Eventually, Bella was allowed to visit, though by then, Narcissa, who refused to leave her bed, was too despondent to react much. Truthfully, she didn’t even know how long she had been locked up. It felt like years. She missed her sister dearly, and for that matter, human contact in general. But mostly Lily.

Narcissa suspected Bella had been talked into trying to persuade her by their parents. Even they, cold as they were, had to be worried that she might never agree to their demands.

The marriage was important. That much had been impressed upon her.

“Cissy,” Bella said, shaking her by the shoulders gently, “come on. You can’t stay like this. It’s unhealthy, and you know Mother won’t let up until you consent to marrying Lucius. I know you don’t want to, but he’s a good man. If you see him as a brother, you’ll only have to be with him in official matters and to produce an heir. He will understand.”

Narcissa knew Bella was only saying that because she was worried about her younger sister and not because she truly believed in Lucius’s goodness, but she felt touched anyway. Still, she would not allow it to sway her. Her resolve was fixed. She would not betray Lily.

“Tell me about something else,” Narcissa said miserably. “Please, Bella.” Her sister looked at her with a sad expression.

“Well…I suppose...the garden,” Bella said. “I think Mother’s finally gone off her rocker.” She shifted uncomfortably. “She said it was cursed.”

“ _Cursed?_ ” Narcissa asked disbelievingly. “Why in Merlin’s name would she say that?” There wasn’t anything amiss with the garden. It was perfect. Narcissa had made sure of that, what with all the work she had done on it.

“It’s because you were spending so much time there lately, I think,” Bella explained. “She tore it down.”

“No,” Narcissa breathed. “Impossible. She couldn’t—” she choked, “—she knows how important it is to me.” _How important Lily is to me._

“I’m sorry, Cissy, but Mother was downright murderous that night. I know you can’t see from your window, but...it was Fiendfyre. Nothing survived.”

Come to think of it, Narcissa had dreamed of a roaring fire the first night of her confinement. At the time, she had thought it was just a vision of Lily’s hair or her wings come to keep her company, but now she knew better.

Druella had sent the garden up in smoke, and along with it, burned the flowers within to ashes. And Lily—Lily had gone.

Narcissa found her body shaking uncontrollably and crossed her arms in an attempt to settle herself, digging her nails into the skin beneath her shoulders. She hiccupped, hysterical. “Circe, Bella, when I said to tell me something else, I meant something light-hearted,” she managed to get out.

“You know me,” Bella said unapologetically. “Heart as dark as a Lethifold. Cissy, listen...I know how difficult this must be for you,” she said, pulling a lacy black handkerchief out of her robes, “but you can’t let this keep you down forever. We can rebuild. I’ll even help you with the garden if you want, though you know my tutor said I was hopeless at Herbology,” she offered. “Where is my strong little sister, hm?” Narcissa was crying, her lashes heavy with the weight of gathered tears. Bella pressed the black cloth against the corners of her eyes.

“You don’t understand,” Narcissa wept, “you _don’t._ ” She hiccupped again. “You’ve always done whatever you wanted, and you—you love Rodolphus. Don’t pretend with me. I know you two asked your parents to arrange the marriage.”

“I know,” Bella said soothingly, still patting Narcissa’s face. “Let it all out.”

“Oh, hell,” Narcissa moaned inconsolably, “she’s gone. Because of me, she’s dead—I LOVED HER,” she shrieked. She pinched at her skin, leaving marks of red with her nails in an attempt to supplant her emotional anguish with physical pain.

It did little to help, but she was glad for it anyway.

“Cissy…?” Bella said, perplexed, placing her hand gently on Narcissa’s. “Who are you talking about?”

“No one,” Narcissa said, blinking away her tears hollowly. She loosened her grip. “Sorry, I’m just confused, Bella. I haven’t been sleeping well,” she explained, waving her other hand dismissively. “You’ve convinced me. I—I’ll marry Lucius.”

Bella’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?” she asked, concern evident on her face.

“Yes,” Narcissa said quietly. Her voice barely trembled. “I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: From "Flower Duet", of the opera _Lakmé_ by composer Léo Delibes. Specifically, Lakmé's part.


	2. Narcissa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily meets Narcissa (again).

It was summer, and her wedding gown was suffocating. There was too much fabric, rich and dense against her body. It had more layers than imaginable, silks and satin and other materials all melded into one lavish display of wealth. She didn’t know how much it had cost, only that countless seamstresses must have worked on it together. Even then, they had toiled over a month to complete it.

It was gorgeous, a classic pure white like Odette in _Swan Lake_ , but longer and more flowy. A delicate cathedral train dotted with miniature flower buds trailed at its back. Enchanted, it would not drag along the floor of the aisle as she walked.

For the past two months, there had been nothing but preparation to create ‘the perfect bride’, as Druella had so graciously put it. There was the memorisation of their vows (she could not stutter; that would be the worst disgrace), the perfection of her gait (floating like a spirit, no matter her footwear), and the rigorous revision of all the manners drilled into her from a young age. Finally, only a week before the wedding, she had finally been deemed ‘fit’ (that was, barely passable).

Now she sat before a mirror. Bella stood at her back, doing her hair, plaiting a crown of white jonquils into her black locks. Her sister’s touch was gentle and caring, much unlike her usual temperament. It seemed to Narcissa that her sister understood innately that she needed the comfort of a steady hand.

“Mother did the same for me,” Bella said, filling what would otherwise be a void of silence between them. “I hated it. You, Cissy, look absolutely breathtaking.”

But, did her appearance matter in the slightest? One way or another, Narcissa was signing the rest of her life away, and she felt numb. She was no longer grieving the loss of Lily, at least not overtly. Her episodes of unstoppable tears and fits of uncontrollable screaming had subsided and become a thing of the past. It felt as if she had nothing left, so she grasped on to her family—the very one that demanded her fulfil her duties as a Black.

It was a rash decision she might later regret, but Druella had meant her words. Narcissa could not have left her room until she complied.

She still went to the garden now and then, when she thought she could bear the lingering pangs of heartbreak. Her visits left her with clouds of melancholy, but still she continued, whether out of habit or longing for the past. It was already on the recovery. Small, crisp sprouts peeked green through the charred ground, though there were no signs of lilies re-emerging.

It just wasn’t the same, but Narcissa found comfort in that. Her hands shook when she thought of how she might react if the lilies regrew only for Lily to remain gone.

Bella placed the last pin in her hair, and it hurt as if she had driven a stake into her, pinning her into place like a butterfly to a display.

“Smile, Cissy, that’s it,” Bella said, placing her hands along the bottom of her sister’s face and tilting her head upwards to face the mirror. Narcissa smiled, her lips turning gracefully upwards, and it was rote; practised. There was no sincerity, but that was just how Druella wanted it. Picturesque and perfect, unaffected by the tides of her emotions. Or, at least, so long as one looked no further to see the sharp edges of shattered glass beneath.

“I’m so glad you’re back.”

* * *

The venue itself was just as extravagant, if not more so. Painted arches draped full of vines and angel’s trumpets adorned the courtyard. The best decorator in town had been commissioned—no less was acceptable. Emerald green and dainty white drowned her surroundings, from the banners hanging at the balconies above to the embroidery of the napkins.

They weren’t her colours. Her family bore a proud red and black. Red like their blood, and the black as pure as it too.

Her face was obscured by a veil as long and unmanageable as the train of her dress. She should have been a queen at the height of her reign, but all she could think of was a dress-up doll stuffed into an ill-fitting smock.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t _her,_ only a mockery of the woman she was, sold off like a trophy. She wouldn’t want this, if not for Druella’s honeyed words and coercion.

Did she want this? (She had been swayed so easily.)

She swallowed her nerves, and they slid down her throat like poisonous spines.

The sun peered dimly through the cloud cover as she stepped out into the open. A light breeze lifted her veil before letting it down again. She saw Druella across the lawn, her father beside her, laughing and talking over tall glasses of champagne. Surrounding them were several groups of guests, some friends of the family, other various relations both close and distant. In the background, a violinist played his instrument, musical notes dancing across his fingertips.

She took a deep breath, or at least one as deep as her bodice would allow her. It felt incomplete, but she needed it regardless.

“Father,” she called. At the same moment, through the fine netting of her veil, she spotted Lucius, his hair a head full of platinum blond, almost as white as the cloth piled on her, contrasted against his obsidian black robes. His hair was pulled back into a single elegant ponytail that fell down his back. They looked like polar opposites. Spying her, too, he threw her a playful smirk. She returned it thinly, her cheeks straining to maintain her façade.

She began to walk, but there were neither downy dream-clouds nor the light fluttering of butterflies in her chest. It felt wrong—nothing like how the other girls had described it.

 _Marriage._ It caught in her throat.

Her heels were too high, sending stabs of pain into the sides of her feet. She wobbled but stayed upright, holding her head up proudly, her shoulders pushed back, as she had been instructed.

When she made it halfway down the aisle, across the silvery carpet, a guest caught her attention. She spun towards them in a sudden jerking motion, nearly sending herself toppling over to the ground, but caught herself, along with her breath.

She was a glowing bonfire in the night, brighter than the sun itself. In her arms was a bushel of flaming torches, or rather, Narcissa saw as she blinked in disbelief, a bouquet of orange tiger lilies just like those she had once tended to.

“Lily!” Narcissa cried. She was no longer the image of perfection Druella had envisioned. Her heart was in tatters, bared for the world to view, her walls swept away by rushing floodwaters. “Lily, is it you?” Narcissa threw herself at her, not stopping to wonder if she was real, or uncaring. She gripped her arms desperately. Behind her, her veil had fallen to the ground. Her pristine crown had slipped too.

“Cissy?” the woman asked, a dreamy expression on her face. “Oh, Cissy, it is. And it’s you, too.”

“You’re different,” Narcissa breathed, pulling Lily in against her chest. She had no wings, but she was soft. Warm; alive. Narcissa’s heart raced. Words spilled from her lips.

_Lily, Lily, Lily._

“I thought the garden burned down. I saw it when I was freed, the charred ground and white ashes. It was horrible. I was so _lost._ ” Her chest ached with remembered grief. Her eyes were wet. “Leave with me, Lily. Let us leave together. I won’t marry Lucius.”

They were pulled apart roughly before Narcissa could so much as gasp in surprise.

“Miss Black,” a guard spoke. With a jolt, Narcissa became aware of her surroundings again. The audience was whispering, and Druella watched her with undisguised disgust. Lucius looked bewildered.

Bellatrix, though frozen, displayed nothing but betrayal. “ _Lily,_ ” she mouthed, pained realisation day-clear on her face, though Narcissa was too far to hear.

Lily was sprawled face-down on the ground, her red hair a flaming halo around her head.

Druella’s eyes flickered down to Lily for an instant, breaking contact with Narcissa’s.

“Seize her and lock her in the dungeons.” Druella’s voice was icy cold and uncaring, as if she hadn’t just watched her daughter fling her loyalties aside for an unknown girl.

“Narcissa,” she called sweetly, turning her focus back. It was venom; a poisoned apple presented with a bow. “I will deal with you later.”

Horror twisted at Narcissa’s insides and spurred her to action. “NO!” she screamed. “NO, YOU CAN’T—MOTHER!”

But if she thought pleading with Druella might work, it did not.

She’d only just gotten Lily back. Oh, Morgana, she knew how cruel Druella could be when spurned. For a transgression as grave as this, Lily could _die._

_Not again, please not again._

She did not worry about what would befall herself. (Lily was everything. Lily was freedom. She loved Lily.)

Losing Lily was the same as death.

Hadn’t that been why Narcissa had chosen to commit herself to her familial duties? Because it had been a mother’s embrace in a bleak world. It had been all that was dear to her Narcissa had left.

It wasn’t even Lily’s fault. All Narcissa’s. She couldn’t choose her own fate, yet she had still tried to defy it. It was her curse, and she had brought it upon herself.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t continue trying.

The guards acted as if they were sent to protect her, but the truth was that they obeyed Druella alone. They existed to uphold the honour of the family, and Narcissa was only one small corner of their kingdom.

She was disposable. (Or she could be forced into place, all her unnecessary parts—her heart—trimmed away and tossed.)

She clawed and she bit. She was a lonesome wolf who had at last found a partner with whom she would traverse the world. Where she had once been gentle was only jagged thorns.

But it was not enough. They outnumbered her. She did not have her wand—it would not befit a _lady_ to be armed at her own wedding.

(She didn’t want to be a lady any longer, but the realisation came far too late.)

They took her against her will and returned her to the confines of her room.

* * *

It was a massive scandal for both the Blacks and the Malfoys, but mostly the latter. The attendees had heard what Narcissa had said to Lily: that she would not wed Lucius.

To be denounced so openly on their wedding day was the worst of embarrassments. Naturally, something had to be done to remedy it. And because the fault lay on Narcissa, fell to her to pay reparations.

It had to be public to wipe away past misdeeds. The Malfoys almost backed out of the marriage agreement (as if Narcissa cared anymore), but Druella convinced them otherwise.

 _“Cold feet,”_ she’d said. _“A terrible misunderstanding.”_

What a sham. Hadn’t they heard Narcissa scream? Hadn’t they seen her transform and fight for Lily? Could she be shackled again after tasting freedom?

Bella didn’t understand, but once she got over the shock, she remained on Narcissa’s side. She was loyal.

She pleaded on Narcissa’s behalf when her parents refused to see her, but they would not be swayed.

She yelled at Narcissa and told her she was stupid. (Narcissa felt better afterwards. She knew Bella was only worried for her, and besides, she was right. Narcissa had been stupid. She had been hesitant, reactionary. It left her with only regrets.)

No severe punishment would befall Narcissa. For all that she had disgraced herself, she was still a Black. (It occurred to her that she could have been disowned. She still had ample value to warrant keeping around, she supposed.)

Lily, on the other hand, would not escape. As part of the deal to settle things between the two families, she would be handed over to the Malfoys to handle as they saw fit. No one would care what happened to a nameless girl. No one save for Narcissa.

Narcissa would dig at the walls like a rat until she escaped the confines of her prison if that meant saving Lily. She would dig until her nails broke and her fingers bled.

So she did.

Wandless magic was her only option. Her parents weren’t foolish enough to entrust her with her wand. Desperation could drive a person far, and Narcissa was beyond desperate.

She barely ate, though she knew she needed to keep up her energy. How many days until it was too late? Was it too late already? Every hour and every minute she spent forcing her magic to condense at her fingers like claws, scratching at the wards enveloping her room. Not a moment was wasted. She never paused to recover. She didn’t track the time.

Gradually, they wore down. A small dent at first, then a larger cavity, until she broke through.

Relief swept over her like summer rain. And then she was gone.

* * *

Narcissa arrived to the scene of Lily tied to a wooden stake at the centre of the town. She was bound over a pyre in the making, a great mound of logs with a platform resting at its top. The fire had been lit and was slowly climbing its way up.

She pushed through the throng of onlookers without stopping for breath. Where Narcissa had once been obedient and soft-spoken, for Lily, she became stronger.

There was a sunlit path between them, and Narcissa would blaze the way.

Lily seemed dazed, her head angled back to gaze at the heavens, and she remained standing only because the ropes held her in place. It might have been the threat of impending death, smoke inhalation, or perhaps her executioners had drugged her to keep her complacent. Narcissa didn’t know.

It didn’t matter. They’d barely exchanged words the last time they’d met (that horrible scene at the wedding that was never meant to be).

Fiery determination filled Narcissa.

She marched up to the stage just as the flames reached Lily’s feet. Someone cried in alarm as she ascended the heap of burning material. Another, recognising her, shouted her name. (It might have been someone she knew, but it did not matter. _Lily_ did, and only her.)

She did not feel the flames licking at her ankles, nor how her hands became blackened and scorched. Adrenaline kept her going, and—love.

She was scrabbling at the knots restraining her when Lily spoke.

“You came,” she whispered. Her frail voice was being blown away in the smoke, but Narcissa heard her all the same.

Narcissa nodded. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Can you fly us?” she asked. But, even if she couldn’t, Narcissa would carry her. Down through the flames again and past the armed guards. (She could see them, swords and spears raised.)

“Yes.” Narcissa undid the last of the bindings.

They flew. They flew even as smoke burned their lungs and flames charred Lily’s wings as soon as they sprouted. Cloth fell in tatters from her, worn away by fire and shed through the erupting of lilies.

Narcissa clung to her as Lily whispered quiet apologies.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said. “I worried you.”

“I’m just so _happy_ ,” Narcissa wept. “I’ve never been so happy.” She gasped. “Oh. Oh, Lily, I never told you… I should be the one apologising…

“I love you, Lily.” She squeezed her eyes shut, though not for how far the ground was beneath them. It felt good to be so high. Narcissa thought she could fly herself. Her heart pounded.

A soft kiss was pressed on her cheek. Her tears were brushed away.

“I love you too, Cissy. Thank you.” A shudder rippled through her wings. Narcissa opened her eyes again. To her horror, she saw that they were still burning. A hole was growing wider by the second, its edges illuminated by the glow of embers. A trail of faint dust was left in their wake.

“Your wings!” Narcissa cried. Lily didn’t look surprised. She must have noticed already. Of course she had—they were a part of her. She was _aflame._

“I’m sorry,” Lily apologised again. A bout of fury rose in Narcissa’s chest.

“Lily! Set me down!”

“We must move farther. I won’t leave you,” she said. “Not again.”

But they were falling. Plummeting, really, like a comet from the skies. Lily wrapped herself around Narcissa protectively. Her embrace was warm against the billowing winds.

“You’ll be safe.”

She wasn’t comforted in the least. Narcissa had come to save Lily, but it was her being saved once again. It stung. It burned like acid, tore at her like a board of nails.

“ _No,_ ” she said. “Enough. I’d rather fall with you, Lily. I went through fire for you!”

Something snapped within her. Was it her magic? It swirled and swirled, concentrating into a whirlpool at her back where Lily’s hands held her tight. It itched. She saw Lily’s eyes widen.

There was a sound of rushing air and expansion behind her. Seams snapped and fabric tore. Narcissa blushed as wind tickled bare skin.

And then they were no longer falling. Instead, the humming of wingbeats was now doubled. Narcissa looked back to see white jonquils on her back, their hearts marked with warm orange reminiscent of tiger lilies.

“You’re flying,” Lily gasped, and her smile was rain after an endless drought.

“We’re flying!” Narcissa felt giddy. Her hair rippled free at her back.

They were soaring now, against the blue sky. A pair of blackbirds darted by, whistling as they passed.

“Everything from your wish,” Lily breathed in awe. “Because you needed to be free.” She cupped Narcissa’s cheek in her hand, now that she was the one being held airborne rather than the other way around. Their noses touched. She smelled of faint lilies.

“Because I love you so dearly.”

“I was freed too.”

“We freed each other.”

* * *

Narcissa never did return to her family, nor did she ever get her wand back. She didn’t need it: fairy magic and wishes were enough for them. She didn’t see Lucius again, and if they crossed paths by chance, they were only strangers in a crowd. Bellatrix sent her letters and arranged clandestine meetings over tea. (They were calming, affectionate things without Druella’s constant presence, and Narcissa enjoyed them very much.)

She saw Andromeda again, how happy her sister was with Ted. They had been wed quietly, with neither fanfare nor extravagance. Narcissa apologised for not attending, but Andy only laughed. She understood. They embraced, happy for each other.

Maybe one day there could be reconciliation with her parents, but she no longer relied on them. If it did come, it would come naturally, as the seasons passed with time.

They had each other. They would be all right.

Lily had bloomed into brilliant existence because of Narcissa’s wish. She was freed by her love and reborn to her, no longer bound to fleeting garden blossoms. She spoke of how, for a period, she had wandered the world, adrift and unremembering. Until, one day, the familiar warmth of a woman as sweet as spring buds had come to her like a dream.

She had sought her out as if in a trance, a blind woman seeking the sun. And the sun was real. They met again.

Narcissa, in return, was transformed too.

They matched.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Wow I hope this isn’t too clichéd_
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this and hope you did reading it as well ♡
> 
> (I’m sort of worried this is too perfect of an ending. The obvious solution to my feelings is to add an ‘epilogue’ that’s actually just an alternate (tragic) ending! To be continued ;) Or just be content with this, because I am.)


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